The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
exert my own towards them; and when I marry, I shall expect to find
more pleasure in making my wife happy and comfortable, than in being
made so by her: I would rather give than receive.”
“Oh! that’s all nonsense, my dear. It’s mere boy’s talk that! You’ll
soon tire of petting and humouring your wife, be she ever so charming,
and _then_ comes the trial.”
“Well, then, we must bear one another’s burdens.”
“Then you must fall each into your proper place. You’ll do your
business, and she, if she’s worthy of you, will do hers; but it’s your
business to please yourself, and hers to please you. I’m sure your
poor, dear father was as good a husband as ever lived, and after the
first six months or so were over, I should as soon have expected him to
fly, as to put himself out of his way to pleasure me. He always said I
was a good wife, and did my duty; and he always did his—bless him!—he
was steady and punctual, seldom found fault without a reason, always
did justice to my good dinners, and hardly ever spoiled my cookery by
delay—and that’s as much as any woman can expect of any man.”
Is it so, Halford? Is that the extent of _your_ domestic virtues; and
does your happy wife exact no more?
CHAPTER VII
Not many days after this, on a mild sunny morning—rather soft under
foot; for the last fall of snow was only just wasted away, leaving yet
a thin ridge, here and there, lingering on the fresh green grass
beneath the hedges; but beside them already, the young primroses were
peeping from among their moist, dark foliage, and the lark above was
singing of summer, and hope, and love, and every heavenly thing—I was
out on the hill-side, enjoying these delights, and looking after the
well-being of my young lambs and their mothers, when, on glancing round
me, I beheld three persons ascending from the vale below. They were
Eliza Millward, Fergus, and Rose; so I crossed the field to meet them;
and, being told they were going to Wildfell Hall, I declared myself
willing to go with them, and offering my arm to Eliza, who readily
accepted it in lieu of my brother’s, told the latter he might go back,
for I would accompany the ladies.
“I beg _your_ pardon!” exclaimed he. “It’s the ladies that are
accompanying me, not I them. You had all had a peep at this wonderful
stranger but me, and I could endure my wretched ignorance no
longer—come what would, I must be satisfied; so I begged Rose to go
with me to the Hall, and introduce me to her at once. She swore she
would not, unless Miss Eliza would go too; so I ran to the vicarage and
fetched her; and we’ve come hooked all the way, as fond as a pair of
lovers—and now you’ve taken her from me; and you want to deprive me of
my walk and my visit besides. Go back to your fields and your cattle,
you lubberly fellow; you’re not fit to associate with ladies and
gentlemen like us, that have nothing to do but to run snooking about to
our neighbours’ houses, peeping into their private corners, and
scenting out their secrets, and picking holes in their coats, when we
don’t find them ready made to our hands—you don’t understand such
refined sources of enjoyment.”
“Can’t you both go?” suggested Eliza, disregarding the latter half of
the speech.
“Yes, both, to be sure!” cried Rose; “the more the merrier—and I’m sure
we shall want all the cheerfulness we can carry with us to that great,
dark, gloomy room, with its narrow latticed windows, and its dismal old
furniture—unless she shows us into her studio again.”
So we went all in a body; and the meagre old maid-servant, that opened
the door, ushered us into an apartment such as Rose had described to me
as the scene of her first introduction to Mrs. Graham, a tolerably
spacious and lofty room, but obscurely lighted by the old-fashioned
windows, the ceiling, panels, and chimney-piece of grim black oak—the
latter elaborately but not very tastefully carved,—with tables and
chairs to match, an old bookcase on one side of the fire-place, stocked
with a motley assemblage of books, and an elderly cabinet piano on the
other.
The lady was seated in a stiff, high-backed arm-chair, with a small
round table, containing a desk and a work-basket on one side of her,
and her little boy on the other, who stood leaning his elbow on her
knee, and reading to her, with wonderful fluency, from a small volume
that lay in her lap; while she rested her hand on his shoulder, and
abstractedly played with the long, wavy curls that fell on his ivory
neck. They struck me as forming a pleasing contrast to all the
surrounding objects; but of course their position was immediately
changed on our entrance. I could only observe the picture during the
few brief seconds that Rachel held the door for our admittance.
I do not think Mrs. Graham was particularly delighted to see us: there
was something indescribably chilly in her quiet, calm civility; but I
did not talk much to her. Seating myself near the window, a little back
from the circle, I called Arthur to me, and he and I and Sancho amused
ourselves very pleasantly together, while the two young ladies baited
his mother with small talk, and Fergus sat opposite with his legs
crossed and his hands in his breeches-pockets, leaning back in his
chair, and staring now up at the ceiling, now straight forward at his
hostess (in a manner that made me strongly inclined to kick him out of
the room), now whistling sotto voce to himself a snatch of a favourite
air, now interrupting the conversation, or filling up a pause (as the
case might be) with some most impertinent question or remark. At one
time it was,—“It, amazes me, Mrs. Graham, how you could choose such a
dilapidated, rickety old place as this to live in. If you couldn’t
afford to occupy the whole house, and have it mended up, why couldn’t
you take a neat little cottage?”
“Perhaps I was too proud, Mr. Fergus,” replied she, smiling; “perhaps I
took a particular fancy for this romantic, old-fashioned place—but,
indeed, it has many advantages over a cottage—in the first place, you
see, the rooms are larger and more airy; in the second place, the
unoccupied apartments, which I don’t pay for, may serve as
lumber-rooms, if I have anything to put in them; and they are very
useful for my little boy to run about in on rainy days when he can’t go
out; and then there is the garden for him to play in, and for me to
work in. You see I have effected some little improvement already,”
continued she, turning to the window. “There is a bed of young
vegetables in that corner, and here are some snowdrops and primroses
already in bloom—and there, too, is a yellow crocus just opening in the
sunshine.”
“But then how can you bear such a situation—your nearest neighbours two
miles distant, and nobody looking in or passing by? Rose would go stark
mad in such a place. She can’t put on life unless she sees half a dozen
fresh gowns and bonnets a day—not to speak of the faces within; but you
might sit watching at these windows all day long, and never see so much
as an old woman carrying her eggs to market.”
“I am not sure the loneliness of the place was not one of its chief
recommendations. I take no pleasure in watching people pass the
windows; and I like to be quiet.”
“Oh! as good as to say you wish we would all of us mind our own
business, and let you alone.”
“No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance; but if I have a few friends,
of course I am glad to see them occasionally. No one can be happy in
eternal solitude. Therefore, Mr. Fergus, if you choose to enter my
house as a friend, I will make you welcome; if not, I must confess, I
would rather you kept away.” She then turned and addressed some
observation to Rose or Eliza.
“And, Mrs. Graham,” said he again, five minutes after, “we were
disputing, as we came along, a question that you can readily decide for
us, as it mainly regarded yourself—and, indeed, we often hold
discussions about you; for some of us have nothing better to do than to
talk about our neighbours’ concerns, and we, the indigenous plants of
the soil, have known each other so long, and talked each other over so
often, that we are quite sick of that game; so that a stranger coming
amongst us makes an invaluable addition to our exhausted sources of
amusement. Well, the question, or questions, you are requested to
solve—”
“Hold your tongue, Fergus!” cried Rose, in a fever of apprehension and
wrath.
“I won’t, I tell you. The questions you are requested to solve are
these:—First, concerning your birth, extraction, and previous
residence. Some will have it that you are a foreigner, and some an
Englishwoman; some a native of the north country, and some of the
south; some say—”
“Well, Mr. Fergus, I’ll tell you. I’m an Englishwoman—and I don’t see
why any one should doubt it—and I was born in the country, neither in
the extreme north nor south of our happy isle; and in the country I
have chiefly passed my life, and now I hope you are satisfied; for I am
not disposed to answer any more questions at present.”
“Except this—”
“No, not one more!” laughed she, and, instantly quitting her seat, she
sought refuge at the window by which I was seated, and, in very
desperation, to escape my brother’s persecutions, endeavoured to draw
me into conversation.
“Mr. Markham,” said she, her rapid utterance and heightened colour too
plainly evincing her disquietude, “have you forgotten the fine sea-view
we were speaking of some time ago? I think I must trouble you, now, to
tell me the nearest way to it; for if this beautiful weather continue,
I shall, perhaps, be able to walk there, and take my sketch; I have
exhausted every other subject for painting; and I long to see it.”
I was about to comply with her request, but Rose would not suffer me to
proceed.
“Oh, don’t tell her, Gilbert!” cried she; “she shall go with us. It’s
—— Bay you are thinking about, I suppose, Mrs. Graham? It is a very
long walk, too far for you, and out of the question for Arthur. But we
were thinking about making a picnic to see it some fine day; and, if
you will wait till the settled fine weather comes, I’m sure we shall
all be delighted to have you amongst us.”
Poor Mrs. Graham looked dismayed, and attempted to make excuses, but
Rose, either compassionating her lonely life, or anxious to cultivate
her acquaintance, was determined to have her; and every objection was
overruled. She was told it would only be a small party, and all
friends, and that the best view of all was from —— Cliffs, full five
miles distant.
“Just a nice walk for the gentlemen,” continued Rose; “but the ladies
will drive and walk by turns; for we shall have our pony-carriage,
which will be plenty large enough to contain little Arthur and three
ladies, together with your sketching apparatus, and our provisions.”
So the proposal was finally acceded to; and, after some further
discussion respecting the time and manner of the projected excursion,
we rose, and took our leave.
But this was only March: a cold, wet April, and two weeks of May passed
over before we could venture forth on our expedition with the
reasonable hope of obtaining that pleasure we sought in pleasant
prospects, cheerful society, fresh air, good cheer and exercise,
without the alloy of bad roads, cold winds, or threatening clouds.
Then, on a glorious morning, we gathered our forces and set forth. The
company consisted of Mrs. and Master Graham, Mary and Eliza Millward,
Jane and Richard Wilson, and Rose, Fergus, and Gilbert Markham.
Mr. Lawrence had been invited to join us, but, for some reason best
known to himself, had refused to give us his company. I had solicited
the favour myself. When I did so, he hesitated, and asked who were
going. Upon my naming Miss Wilson among the rest, he seemed half